Hear to See
by roguegal17
Summary: Keep your eyes shut. It’s safer that way.
1. Part 1

Title: Hear to See

Author: roguegal17

Summary: Keep your eyes shut. It's safer that way.

Disclaimer: I do not own any the characters within this story, but if I did, then Season 2 would have progressed quite differently. Plus Season 3 might have existed.

Rating: PG-13 occasionally veering into R. Nothing too explicit, just thoughts rightly deemed unpleasant. 

Feedback: Please do. If you don't have time now, come back later. I'll be here. Or you can email me if you'd rather, at roguegal17@yahoo.com.

PART 1/4

Silence pervaded the coolness of the house and outside the leaves had yet to fall.

*

The light muffled swish on the stairs was just enough to wake the young boy currently sleeping at the end of a great hall. Eyes became instantly alert. Everything stopped. Everything. Even with the blood thrumming in his ears, he could still make out the individual footsteps as Irons approached. 5…6…7…and then nothing. His breath held, Ian waited for the tell-tale creak in the floorboards – signifying how the night would turn out. He squeezed his eyes shut, but a hot tear still escaped onto his cheek as the wood floors betrayed Irons' intentions for the evening.

*

He could be strong. He could endure - no - he WOULD endure. Panic slowly blossomed in his eyes. Soft, smoky voices sounded through his chaotic mind. They were trying hard to quell the raging storm, which threatened to crumble Ian's already fragile existence. "_Fooocuuusss…breeeaaath…resume thy slummmbeeerrr…_" the voices cajoled. "_Survival isss for the strooonnnggg…overcoooome thy enemy aaaand thy…_" He shut them off, they were no longer comforting. Their vague promises held little value right now.

* 

He didn't understand, not for a long time. He then stopped trying and just accepted. It was too much, even for him. 

* 

There were other things to think about now, as he curled into a tighter ball and slowed his near erratic breathing. Mere moments later his entire body stilled and it was as though he had never woken up at all. He was getting better at delaying it. He could tell. 

*

The padding of footsteps stopped completely and was replaced by the sickening sound of metal on metal. 

*

Silence.

*

And then it came, the resounding echo of the key as it smacked against the floor skittering a few feet away. He could hear muttering. Ian began to thank whatever god or goddess provided the night's waning moon. Little to no light filtered into the great hallway. Irons would never find the key now.

*

He did not even finish his prayer. Even through clenched lids, his keen eyesight could make out the harsh artificial light that illuminated the frame of his doorway. Ian's heart sank as the realization hit him. He had been too hasty earlier that day. He'd heard the whirring noise of the video camera and left as quickly as he could. He hadn't tampered enough with the electrical paneling in the hallway; the light switch still worked. It still worked. His head hurt more now. The darkness wasn't going to keep him covered in its complete embrace. His pulse threatened to increase its speed, but this thought was terminated as his newly acquired meditative skills kicked in. Ian slowly regained his center and smoothed out his energy. He'd been so sure he was getting better at postponing it. Why not now too?

*

The wind sighed, glancing through the eaves of the mansion dictating that the night would indeed feel long.

*

The weight shifted slightly on his bed and a cool hand gently pushed an errant curl behind his ear, lingering at the wet spot on his cheek. He felt Irons' fingers hover under his nose for a moment, testing the evenness of his breathing. To see if he was truly sleeping as soundly as he seemed to be. Ian knew the right responses now; Iron's tactics would not fool him again.

*

With that obstacle passed, he heard the clink of ice and glass on the oak nightstand beside his bed. It was Amaretto tonight; he'd smelled it on Iron's fingers only moments before and was surprised the old man had chosen something so sweet. Strong and biting seemed to suit his tastes of late.

***

He was good at pretending. Nanny checked his little suit each morning, running her perfumed hands over every angle, dispelling any lint or dust. And he was good at pretending he didn't want to run and scream until his head hurt again. He was good at pretending. Her smooth fingers lifted and prodded his gums in an attempt to check his teeth, roughly turning his head side to side. He pretended he didn't want to shrink into his jacket and disappear from the "wrongness" of it all. Instead he stood tall and straight like a good boy should. And he was a good boy. Always.

*

Eyes closed. Head down. Eventual slumber awaits.

*

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A/N: Scooter was kind enough to return the favor and beta for me. She did an awesome job by encouraging me and being very patient. I've been enjoying myself reading other's stories, so I thought I would finally join in the fray. Oddly enough I had planned my first piece to something much lighter, but that didn't quite happen. I need to do something happy though, to balance it all out. I think I have something in mind, once this story is done. Thank you for reading this. It was cathartic to write it.


	2. Part 2

PART 2/4

A few days prior. The sky no less welcoming than before.

*

She didn't react when she spied him taking the old screwdriver hidden in the pantry. Moments passed and scrapping noises emanated from the second story hallway. Rather than tromp upstairs and risk being heard, she made her way to the center of the house to the Control Center itself. Knocking on a seemingly benign wall panel, she was greeted by the hum and whine of electronics. Without any sort of pretense she leaned over the technician and tapped a few keys bringing up access to security cameras within the mansion.

*

Tap. The front gate with Lions standing in loyal and lethal guard.

Tap. Tap. The main lab, a lone man in an outwardly pristine lab coat hunched over a metal table. His head is grasped tightly in his hands, as though debating over great and future things.

Tap. The Great Room with the fireplace – slowly going out. She made a mental note to inform the staff before Irons noticed as well.

Tap. The Great Hallway with paintings of those faceless women and Irons himself. She looked at one of the many clocks decorating the wall; according to Greenwich time, he had been there for over three hours.

*

She joked with him once. She made the claim that he had more security than the White House, while sliding deeper into the cushion of his body. A response cool and refined followed as he rolled her nude form away from him. "My dear, where do you think they got the idea?" He quietly and gracefully stepped to the cabinet to pour himself a dark liquid remembrance. 

*

Or was it to forget? 

*

The screen blipped one last time and finally displayed a young Ian dismantling the wooden panel belonging to the lights at the far end of the hallway. The technician was now overtly intrigued and turned another knob to zoom in on what the young boy was doing. Snap. Twist. Snip. The panel was off and Ian placed it gently on the antique chair he was standing on. He was careful not to touch the wood and smear the recently applied polish; the scent of citrus smelled nice, he'd have to tell the upstairs maid that. 

*

Tech and Nanny alike watched in morbid fascination that the young boy would so openly defy Irons and do something potentially destructive to his property. Their hearts quietly echoed that same desire.

*

Ian could feel the small beads of sweat as they traveled down his neck and onto his back tracing the lines of his new injury, he could tell this one would scar. The cotton bandage absorbed the initial wetness, but the few more determined drops seeped into the wound causing him to twitch ever so slightly. This became nearly as distracting as the familiar voices, which charged into his mind. Without any sort of prior warning, they began noisily chattering away about the "strategic" move he was making. Ian waved a tired hand by his ear, trying in vain to get the raspy voices to go away. Subterfuge was another form of battling, he reasoned with them. Their unusually nervous reply suggested he be aware that unhonorable men attacked, even when they could not see their true opponent. He should no longer welcome the Night, for it no longer held adequate cover.

*

Ian tried to digest this new information and wanted desperately to cry to someone about it. That luxury denied, he instead returned his full focus to the task at hand and tried very hard not to cut the wrong wire. He never did like the strong tingle that came from open circuits. He really was doing what he could. It was all he ever did. He just wished it could finally be good enough for someone. Anyone. Or anything for that matter.

*

Even without the volume at maximum, the occupants in the control room could make out the SHH! which escaped the boy's lips, as he rubbed and swatted at his ear trying to make something, unseen to them, go away.

*

"Does he always…" the technician trailed off before realizing the idiotic nature of his question. He'd watched the boy long enough to know something wasn't right with Irons' dark haired little freak. He leaned in closer to watch the boy's face, almost enraptured by the ingenious nature of his plan. The twerp was gonna catch the screwdriver against his ear if he kept swatting at imaginary bugs like that. Though, he'd have to admit watching the kid screw around was a lot more entertaining than running diagnostics for the security systems. But, he'd have to make sure he was too busy to carefully watch the screens for the encore, which would undoubtedly come later.

*

The tech shifted again in his chair surreptitiously edging closer to the newest Nanny, who, at the moment, looked lost in thought and in no mood to converse. His eyebrows arched slightly as her chest was conveniently getting closer to eye level. He wasn't complaining. She smelled like Lilies and spice.

*

"Yes. Sometimes. He does that when he believes no one is looking or paying attention." She answered to fill the silence, before it became thick and uncomfortable, much like the man beside her. "It's been happening quite often lately," she mumbled to herself before darting a glance at the monitor that captured Irons' visage. 

*

With action both swift and decisive, she reached over and stopped the tape recording Ian's ill deeds. Her breast brushed the side of the man's face as she returned to a standing position. She heard the swift intake of air and mused over which one of her actions had caused the change in his breathing rhythm. She clamped tightly onto the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking.

*

"Hey don't! You can't do that!" he screeched, abruptly pulled from his perfumed reverie. He scrambled to re-start the tape. He KNEW better. He shouldn't have let her in. Again. Not after last time. She was messing with his order; his sterile perfectly controlled perfectly comfortable environment. Bitch even had the audacity to invade his dreams, which if comparisons could be drawn, weren't nearly as clean as his workplace.

*

"I will and I just did," she remarked before attempting to calm his frantic and jerky movements. For such an inactive individual, she was surprised by his burst of strength. The loud creak emanating from Irons' monitor gave pause to their impromptu wrestling match. They waited with baited breath for his next move. 

*

Slow even steps carried Irons down the hallway and out of sight of the first and second monitor. 

*

Sweat beaded on their foreheads and blood pressures escalated collectively as they heard Irons' light movements directly above the control room. This could turn out to be a bad day to be employed here.

"Oh man. Oh shit. Oh god. Oh..."

"Aaaahhhh…"

*

The sigh came from her first; from him it sounded like the wheeze of old bellows. Irons had reappeared moments later in the monitor for the Great Room stopping momentarily to "tsk, tsk" at the low flames in the hearth. They watched intently, as he turned and glided towards his newest legal acquisition - the marble bust of a striking young female. He ran his hands over every marvelous corner, memorizing and mapping out each crevice, like a dedicated lover would do. A true warrior would again greet his presence. Time would tell. He stepped back to admire his most recent toy from every angle; the low light from the fire really did do it justice.

*

It became evident to his watchers that Ian heard the noise as well. He darted away like a frightened rabbit, but only after putting the finishing touches on the light cover. The tools were safely secured within the pocket of his little jacket and it was like nothing had happened at all. Almost. He hoped in his carelessness that no one noticed the tiny spot of chipped paint on the bottom left corner. A smile nearly slipped out during the moment of pride he felt. Ian was careful not to jar the bandage out of place as he fled from the scene of his crime. Nanny had been so careful when she had applied it the other day. She didn't even ask questions that time.

*

"Ian is a naturally curious child and I have encouraged this trait in him. He has found many interesting things in the mansion unbeknownst even to me. Specifically in here." Without even a civil look, she tapped the heel of her black pumps against a metal drawer, jarring the unseen contents within.

*

Blinking several times did not erase the blank and deliciously confused look on the Tech's face. "What did she just say?" his mind's voice screamed out for a plausible answer. An eerie echo was the only reply. "How d-did you know about that?" he stated aloud, wondering how he was rapidly losing control of the situation. Did she know about the OTHER things too? A shudder wriggled through his large frame and he could feel the tightening in his chest. He hoped to God the inhaler in his shirt pocket was full.

*

The tech reassessed the current situation. This was a solid job. He liked it. He liked the pay, the hours and truth be told - he preferred watching people to interacting with them. And sitting here in his own space, they didn't have to see him either. He was the one in charge here, surveying everything within the realm of his cameras. There wasn't a spot in the mansion he didn't have access to, unlike certain other hired help. He saw and recorded everything in this place and he could watch the tapes later during his own time if he so chose. Hence, the predicament the Nanny had him in now. But what the hell did _she_ care if he had tapes of her and Irons engaging in activities he'd only seen occasionally in his magazines. She'd never been bothered by it before, so why now? He had many favorite tapes, but the most memorable one had been the time when she looked directly at one of the hidden cameras and clearly mouthed the words: "I. See. You."

*

Christ…

What kind game was she playing now? Okay, so yeah, maybe she had something to bargain with, but for what…a tape of that little snot-head doing something stupid? But why? Her actions had never shown she had the kid in mind. Why the change? And why come to him about it? He wasn't involved. He had nothing to do with it. Maybe her conscience was finally stabbing at her for leaving the boy unprotected so often. Maybe she was just being manipulative and acting all superior again. Or maybe the alarm on her biological clock was going off seeing how vulnerable the kid was. He mentally snorted at that last thought, which oddly enough bolstered his confidence to ask her "So what do ya want for 'em?"

*

She raised an eyebrow; surprised he'd put together a coherent sentence in such short notice. And he was ready to cooperate. Good. This would make things marginally easier. She cleared her throat; the heat from the electronics coupled with the Tech's profuse sweating was creating an odor that was steadily getting to her. She blinked once more and stated, "You will hand over the one tape of Ian in exchange for the three tapes hidden in your desk." She paused making sure she had his full attention. "And for the dozen or so you have at your residence." The man looked like he was going to choke again. 

*

She made no move to help him as he sucked down two shots of his ever-present inhaler. He merely nodded and handed her the copy she'd requested. The look in her dark eyes stopped him before he could even ask how she knew about the tapes at his apartment. She'd already mentioned Ian had a curious bent; the tech could use his over active imagination to fill in the rest of the blanks. She turned the tape over examining it as though there should be something special about it, considering what was on it. Honestly, she was unimpressed, but she held tightly onto the tape anyway. She could burn it later in the Grounds Keeper's tool shed. No one would notice the smell there. 

*

She turned back towards him as if to say something, not "_Thankyou_" but something else. His unblinking gaze and tensed shoulders told her that their conversation and transaction was completed. She left quieter than she entered. She missed the Tech shaking in relief at her exit as well as the smell of disinfectant as he wiped out her presence from the room.

*

If anyone had cared to review the tapes from that day, nothing at all would have appeared out of the ordinary. The hallways were especially empty. The Master of the house was admiring his antiquities. A well kempt woman walked brusquely to locate the whereabouts of her young charge. A small boy molded himself into a dark neglected corner of the house, so that no one might notice him too much. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. The daily routine of Faust Street went on uninterrupted.

___________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Same disclaimer as PART 1. Sorry for the long wait and any inconsistencies you may find. I like to play with the POV, but let me know if something was unclear. I made it a bit longer this time around. More to come. The importance of reviews has really sunk in. I thought I knew before I posted a story, but I had no idea. Once I get some free time I'm going to catch up on all of the stories I missed thus far. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and reviewing. The giant spaz in me exploded with joy and even did a wiggle dance in utter happiness. Scooter – you demonstrated once again how much you rock.


	3. Part 3

Part 3/4

Before, Now and maybe Then

He's utterly afraid this time around. Scared. Again. But he tries to tell her anyway because due diligence was bred into his soul. He's so confused because he feels he's betraying a sort of trust laid upon him. He wishes he were closer to the bathroom. That way he could have just a very small drink. Life is hard so he swallows the lump in his throat and licks his lips for the third time in a minute. He starts out in a soft trembling voice with words mingling in every which way, but gradually evening out into something disturbingly coherent. All other sounds drown out and with _her_ heart racing now, she wishes that he'd remained in a babbling state.

*

Sometimes he wakes up and sees Mr. Irons in his room looking out his window. He can barely make out the robe he was wearing. It looks maroon and embroidered and the sash in loose. Mr. Irons tells him to go back to sleep. He of course obeys. He knows no other course of action. He's yet to be taught or shown otherwise.

*

There's some sort of stilted reaction within, waking him from a groggy unconsciousness. There's something soft and warm in his hand and doesn't know why he feels it. _Wrong_. For the first time, he lets go and rolls over to the other side of his little bed. Pulls his legs in slightly and clenches the pillow a little tighter. He doesn't understand and his hands never feel clean now. He never feels clean. Memories like unseen stains that don't fade away.

*

Ian takes longer showers now. He suds up the washcloth with as much Yardley's soap as it can hold before beginning the daily assault. Every inch rubbed, scrubbed and heated with scalding water making him eternally glow pink. He takes his time. Nails, ears, neck, tummy and "down there" too.

*

He's begun to take much longer than necessary and Nanny finally notices. His plan partially works; she notices him and nearly looks him in the eye. She scolds him for being a dirty boy, doing dirty things. He should control himself she says and her anger reaches deep into his ears and soul. Fight dirty thoughts, her mantra became. Eyes widen. She knows. In all respects. He can tell her, she's older than him, he reasons. Being older meant wiser and smarter, like Mister Immo but with less access to needles. Then she _must_ know what to do. She can help. He tries to look at her again, but she avoids his eyes this time as though it makes her nervous or uneasy now. She's now begun to process it all, only because she's been forced to. This thought makes him stop and he pulls back, putting his gloved hands at rest behind him. She might help but she's never really expected anything from him. How can he expect something from her?

*

After being in the house for a mere month he learned that she spends time with Mr. Irons after she's sent him off to bed. Mr. Irons doesn't spend time with unworthy people. Or dumb people, but if he has to endure their presence, he makes it a rather brief meeting. She stays for hours, but never past sunrise. He lets this roll around in his head for a moment and Ian comes to the same conclusion. She must know. It takes him longer to decide how he feels about this revelation.

*

He would wait a few minutes, creep out, and make his way down the hallway. He could make the voyage there blindfolded; three feet up, set two boards to the left, go a few more feet and then he could rest his tiny body against the doorframe pressing into it with his ear. The occupants behind this door were too occupied to even take notice if they had a third party listening in. Or a fourth party watching.

*

They spoke in a strange low guttural language; there weren't too many words, only noises. He'd tried to look it up in a reference book, but it did not offer much assistance. He questioned his Tutor about it. Once. The answer had been affirmed in two parts: a yardstick across out stretched forearms and the task of finishing Beowulf before week's end. It had been hard to turn the pages, but he finished the book early only to discover it exasperated the Tutor even more. Ian wasn't sure what confused him more. The fact that his teacher wasn't going to explain something to him, when the man surely knew the answer. Or that he'd been punished for something he didn't see as a crime, by someone who wasn't Mr. Irons. A correctly phrased question was never a crime. Right? He'd have to shift his paradigm again.

*

She always leaves early in the morning before she comes in to wake him up. The floor is still cold and a scent lingers in the hallway, but she always comes in wearing fresh clothes. Even if it means she wakes him up a few minutes late and they have to rush to get him ready in time. He somehow feels sorry for her that she doesn't get to sleep the whole night in a bed. Could it be that she wasn't as important as his other Nannies, but that too did not make sense. She had lasted longer than any of the other women Mr. Irons had employed to assist in raising him. He had yet to drive her away. He was somewhat pleased with the thought.

*

She never clearly answered him about what to do. She reached down to grasp his hand, ignoring the way he flinched, she yanked him in the direction of the stairs, and they traveled towards parts unknown. His chest burst with joy or perhaps from the exertion of her fast pace. He would always be amazed at the speeds women could reach in heels, but something else in that moment created far more amazement. She was holding his hand, rather tightly yet in a manner that she would not let him go and in that moment he - wait they'd already gone past the library. It was mid morning and Mr. Irons was always in the library this time of day. There is an abrupt understanding and instead of protesting, he lets her momentum carry them along to their destination, the kitchen. His chest hurts more now.

*

He stands by the barstool and watches as she rummages through oak cupboards, the glass rattling after she can't find the correct contents. He'd swear she's a little panicky or maybe just very intent. It doesn't matter and he doesn't care. As she wrenches the next panel open to retrieve a mug, a very annoyed and slightly nasal voice interrupts her search, "_Merde_ woman! Let me get whatever it is before you break something." In the politest of terms, the Faust Mansion's resident Chef would be considered thin and willowy. Wiry was much more apt. The only thing this female was ever gentle with was food. And neither occupant was such at the moment. 

*

"You shouldn't give children chocolate every time they cry. It is the root of bad manners." Carefully heating milk for the cocoa, the Chef sent Nanny a scathing look that didn't even hide the implication that she fully knew about her bad manners. While such silent interaction would normally captivate Ian's attention, he was more fascinated by the tears he wiped away from his face. He hadn't even felt them fall. Weren't you supposed to feel some sort of release after you cried? He did not continue these thoughts, as there was suddenly a steaming cup of hot chocolate placed in front of him. Quick and delicious. It was what Mr. Irons had called the Chef's food some months before, or had he been directly referring to the Chef herself? He climbed onto the stool and took a tentative sniff before swallowing a good portion of the drink. He focused on the burning liquid to avoid looking at two pairs of expectant eyes.

*

"It is nice. Thank you." He paused before adding, "Ma'am." The Chef huffed. "Well, when you're done with your _nice_ drink, put it in the sink. Someone will take care of it later." The story of his life. Before exiting her domain, Chef turned towards Nanny once more "If you see him, tell him dinner has been set for quarter past the hour now." With no good retort on hand, Nanny was displeased to be suddenly relegated to messenger. Instead, she acted as though the other woman's comments were not important enough to be deigned with a response. 

*

Ian let the thick cream melt before taking another sip of the now tepid beverage. He decided the hazelnut tasted okay and he kept this to himself.

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Disclaimer: Double-checks list…darn, still not mine.

A/N: A slightly shorter chapter for your perusal and many many apologies for the supreme lack of update. I had all my energies focused on finding a job and now that I have secured employment, I can return to doing this. Scooter, my beta, rocks so very much and inspires me to try to be more creative. 


End file.
